


Human

by mason_mason



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Multi, has references to other stephen king books, little bit of reddie, losers on the run, starts with young losers but ends with them being like seventeen and eighteen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mason_mason/pseuds/mason_mason
Summary: The Losers have freaky powers and are on the run from a organization chasing them.  Its gonna be weird and have a lot of references so catch as many as you can.





	1. Bill Denbrough Becomes A Loser

**October, 1988**

 

Bill Denbrough woke with a yell, bolting upright in his bed.

 _No._ He choked on his breath.   _It never happened.  It was just a bad dream._ It was a lie, obviously.  Bill didnt have bad dreams.  In fact, he didnt have dreams at all.  What he saw on the backs of his eyelids had happened (or would happen) in real life, in the real world.  And what did that mean for Bill?

"I have t-t-to go."  Bill whispered into the palm of his hand.   _I have to go and I cant come back._

Bill slipped out from under his covers.  He cringed when his feet touched the cold wood flooring.  It would be the last time he ever did that, at least in this room.

He switched on his desk lamp and began to pack, focusing on putting things in his bag and less on the why he was doing it.  Shirts, pants, underwear, socks, and The Hobbit, his favorite book.  He would read it to his little brother sometimes before bed.  They were on chapter seven.  Thinking about Georgie, and leaving him by himself, pushed Bill to tears.   _Fuck._ He thought, stowing the book under a pair of jeans.   _You dont have time for this,_ he told himself and changed out of his pajamas.  Bill emptied his puiggy bank into his bag and zipped it with finality.  That was all he would take.

Bill stepped into the hall and looked at Georgie's bedroom door.  He wouldnt say goodbye to him.  He wouldnt see him one more time, either.  If he did, he might never leave.  Bill decided it was better that he left, instead of being dragged out of his home like he was dangerous or diseased.

His hand on the front door handle, Bill took a last sweep of the living room.  He remembered having birthday parties in here with Bradley Donovan and Betty Ripsom and Ben Hanscom.   _Ben._ Bill realized, feeling cold.   _I have to warn Ben._

Yes.  Bill Denbrough had once had parties with dozens of guests and games and pizza, but tonight he was just a loser on a bike, peddling down the dark street, not looking back.


	2. Ben Hanscom Follows The Leader

**October, 1988**

 

"Bill, its one in the morning."  Ben Hanscom complained to Bill Denbrough climbed through his window.  "Hey, why do you have a bag?  Are you in trouble?"  Bill looked at Ben, his face too pale and his expression too serious for someone of only twelve years.

"B-b-ben," Bill breathed, "I think w-we both are."

Ben knew Bill Denbrough, because everyone knew Bill Denbrough - aka Stuttering Bill.  They'd been in the same class since third grade, but never really hung out.  Not that Ben had ever "hung out" with anybody besides his own mother.  

Ben knew  _about_ Bill, too.  About what he could do.  And Bill knew about Ben.   _Thats why he's here,_ Ben thought after Bill said he might be in big trouble.  He listened as Bill explained his reasons.  He saw _them_ , he told Ben.

"Saw who?"

" _Us."_ Bill said, sitting down fast on Bens bed.  "Us and s-s-some other kids."

"Who were they?"

"I d-dont know."  Bill shook his head and took off his backpack.  Ben suspected it was full of clothes.   _This is bad,_ Ben thought,  _if Bill Denbrough's running, its gotta be bad._ "Ive n-n-never seen them b-b-b-before."  Ben sat down next to Bill, too afraid to ask what happened to them.  Bill continued like he had.  "We w-were in cells.  Like p-p-p-p-p...p-p-p-p... _prison._ "  Bill forced the word out.  "One l-l-looked dead...a b-b-boy g-got shot.  Right in the head."

"Shit."  Ben said through his hand.  "And bad people are coming for us?"  Ben asked, his stomach dropping.  He knew Bill was going to ask him to leave.

"Yes."  Bill said.  "You have t-to leave."

Ben sat silent for a moment, going over his options.  He didnt want to leave his mother - it would crush her.  But seeing her only son in a scary prison where the guards shoot kids would kill her.

"B-ben?"  Bill put his hand on Ben's arm, and Ben could feel the fear and the insecurity as well as the cool sureness Bill was feeling.  "W-w-will you leave?"

"...Yeah...yeah.  Just...let me...let me pack a bag."

 

Ben Hanscom and Bill Denbrough ditched their bikes behind the bus station.  Ben pretended not to notice when Bill kissed Silver on the handlebars.

"Its a little late for you boys, idnit?"  The driver asked as Bill paid their fare.

"Our moms in Bangor getting surgery,"  Bill lied smoothly.  "Its her birthday."

"We're surprising her."  Ben piped in.  The boys realized the driver didnt care, that she was just being polite, so they took seats in the back.  "I miss my pillow."  Ben complained half an hour later as he shifted in the plastic seat.

"D-dont."  Bill gripped his hand.  (sad, nervous, scared)  Ben could see on Bill's face that he hadnt _wanted_ to leave any more than Ben did.  "D-dont think about it."

Ben wondered solemnly if he would do something out of want, and not out of need, in the foreseeable future, and tried to get some sleep.


	3. Richie Tozier Makes A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zoinks i put 1989, i mean 1988. i mean, if you look now it’s gonna day 1988, so there’s really no fucking reason for me to be typing this. i’m just here to waste your time, thank you and goodnight.

**November, 1988**

 

Richie Tozier walked down the street, a cigarette between his lips and quarters jangling in his pocket.

It was the last Wednesday in November, and school had just let out for the long weekend.  The kids in his class had complained about having to have dinner with their extended family and dressing nice.  Richie had bragged at length that he didn't have to do any of that, that he was spending the weekend at the arcade.  They'd all called him lucky, but he didn't feel that way.

Richie hummed as he turned the corner, then bumped into somebody much taller than him.

"What the fuck?  _Tozier!_ _"_ Henry Bowers, one of the most feared high schoolers in town, gripped Richies arm tight enough to leave deep bruises and glared down at him.

"Wow, what a moron I am."  Richie laughed nervously, trying to pull away.  "Can you believe I just did that?"  He laughed again when Belch Huggins, a close friend of Bowers, stepped out of the drugstore.  He raised his eyebrows, then looked mildly inconvenienced.

"Shut the fuck up," Bowers snapped.  "Didn't I tell you not to bother me this weekend?  Didn't I tell you I was busy?"

"Shit, it's not like I _wanted_ to run into you, asshole."  Richie blabbered, then clamped his mouth shut.  Henry yanked him forwards and threw him into the alley between the drugstore and the laundromat.  His glasses flew off and his head smacked against the concrete.  "Fuck!"

"Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?" Bowers screamed and kicked him in the chest.  Richie felt the air in them rush out all at once.

"Didn't your daddy teach you it's not okay to kick people?"  Richie gasped.  Henry yelled something at him and aimed for another kick.  Richie flinched, covering his head with his arms.

"Leave me alone, jackass."  His head hurt bad and spots danced in front of his eyes.

"Look."  Bowers said quietly.  Richie could hear how angry he was with him.  "Look at me."  Richie didn't move.  " _Tozier!_ "  Richie flinched and lifted his head so his eyes saw over his arms. 

Henry lifted his hand, holding his shiny switchblade.  Richie opened his mouth to say something, but, for once, no sound came out.   _Don't touch me with that, don't fucking touch me at all._

Henry laughed at his expression and clicked it, the blade half an inch away from Richies eye. 

"Go away."  Richie swallowed, somehow keeping his voice from shaking.  "I just bumped into you, it was a fucking accident, you parking garage elevator."

At the end of the alley, Belch barked a laugh.  Henry whipped his head around to glared at him.  Belch shut up and looked irritated again. 

"What have I been saying, faggot?"

"Im not a homo."  Richie scowled.  Henry pressed the point of his knife against Richies cheek.  The metal was cold and sharp. They were quiet for a long second.  "WHAT DID I SAY?"

"Look both ways before you cross the street."  Richie grumbled, using a tone that a small child would with their parent.

Bowers snarled and moved to dig the knife into his cheek, grinning like it was his birthday.  “Go fuck yourself.”  Richie said with whatever anger he could feel over his fear.  Bowers glared and punched him in the mouth.

"Anything to say about that, _fag_?"  Belch mocked from the left.  Richie stared down, tears finally spilling out of his eyes as a wave of something like shame washed over him, like he didn’t want them to know something but he didn’t know  _what._

"Look at me.  Look!"  Henry screamed in his face.  Richies eyes snapped up quickly.  Henry grinned again, seeing him so scared he was shaking and crying like a little kid.  "Now, I'm gonna tell you to do something, and you're going to do it."

"What if I don't?"  Richie asked.  Henry laughed at him and shook his head.  He knew Richie would do anything he told him to.

"I buried something somewhere-"

"Henry-"  Belch said warningly.

"SHIT BELCH LET ME DO THIS!"  He yelled at him, then turned back to Richie.   _He's crazy.  Batshit crazy._ "Tozier."  Henry heaved a sigh.  "I buried something under the Kissing Bridge.  Dig it up and bring it to...mmmm...Hockstetter's place."  Richie pressed his lips together and bit his tongue, trying his hardest not to speak.  Henry knew Richie hater Hockstetter more than he hated him.  "If you do that for me, I'll leave you alone for the rest of the semester."  Richie raised his eyebrows.  That was almost a whole month.  "Yes, all semester.  You think you can do that, faggot?  Do we have a deal?"

"...yes."  Richie looked away from him.  Bowers stood up and the two older boys began walking away.

"Oh,"  Bowers turned back to look at him, "Of you open the bag I'll fucking kill you...real slow...after I let Hockstetter have some fun with you."  The boys laughed and rounded the corner, leaving Richie staring after them in horror.

Richie slumped against the wall, his heart pounding in his throat.  What was in the bag?  Drugs? Money?  A body?  Whose body?   _It isn't a body, genius.  It's just cash or something stolen._

Richie held his breath and pushed himself to his feet.  Right, this... okay.  Richie got to his feet and squinted around for his glasses.  

"Okay...okay....oooooo-kaaaay."  He shook his head, hoping the spots in his eyes would disappear, and started his walk home.  

The arcade would have to come later, he'd made a deal with Henry Bowers.  

And everyone knew deals with the devil always came first.


	4. Mike Hanlon Makes A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey, so like..they say a homophobic slur? but they did in the last chapter too, but people do warnings and shit so i figured i’d give you a heads up. also, my friend told me to put a racial slur in here because there are racists in here? but i literally can’t do that. i can do homophobic slurs bc i, myself, am gay, but i’m also asian, so cant say (or write) the n word. so, there’s that. 
> 
> okay so i rewrote this, 2/6

 

  **November , 1988**

Mike Halon was called many things.  He was called slurs and praises and nicknames and insults.  He was called “Honey” and “my Sweet Child”by his mother and “Mikey”by his father.  He was called “Homeschool”by all of the kids in town.  To the store owners his family’s farm supplied, he was “that Hanlon boy.”  To those they didn’t, he was “that farm boy.”  He was called a lot of things, but if there was one thing that Mike Hanlon was never called, it was a coward.  

Well, not until a particularly cold day in November.

The sky was clear and the air was frigid as Mike walked his bike home from the library, two books in his basket.  Around him, the town seemed calm, like everyone decided it was too cold to leave the house.  It was the perfect day for someone like Mike to go into town.

He whistled a tune he heard on the radio and walked across the bridge that separated the north and south sides of town.  He heard a scream, a girly scream, from beneath the bridge.  Then laughing. 

 _Just go home, Mike,_ He told himself and shook his head, _there isn’t use to getting into more trouble than you need to._ He rolled his bike farther across the bridge.  Staring at the wood like it was the most important thing.  Another scream.  More laughter.  High pitched giggles cut through the frozen air.  He heard a splash, gasping, more giggles.  

 _Just go home.  Just go home, Mike._ He stopped and bit on his thumb.

He leaned his bike against the bridge and looked over the side, making immediate eye contact with the victim - a boy, struggling in the water as a group of girls mike recognized jabbed at and hit him with sticks.  He was small, with wide, angry eyes and a feminine build.

”Dont just fucking _stand_ there!”  The boy yelled at him.  One of the girls, the one he recognized as Gretta Bowie, looked up at Mike, her eyes cold and narrow.

”Get out of here, Hanlon.”  She told him, “This isn’t any of your business.”  Mike looked from her to the boy, who stared at him with eyes that seemed to bore into his soul.  “I said go away!”  Gretta yelled at him, picking up a rock and throwing it at him.  He dodged it easy, wishing he’d caught it and thrown it right back at her.

“Either fucking help me or get out of here!”  The boy snapped at him, one of the girls swung her stick at him, it hit him upside the head and he tumbled into the water, reappearing a moment later.  

“Go home.”  Gretta said rather calmly, which Mike had learned that was a bad sign with girls.  He took a step back, then another, and picked up his bike.   _Go home.  Go home.  This isn’t your business._ He started back down the road, towards his house, but stopped again when he heard one of the girls call that boy a faggot.   _That isn’t right.  I can’t leave him there, if they’re just on him about who he likes.  That’s like if they were on me because of my skin._  

They frequently were.  

Mike stood there another moment, then kept walking, then stopped again, angry with himself.  “Don’t be a coward.”  He said to himself, then make a decision.

 He picked up the book in his basket, harcovered and heavy, and launched them over the side of the bridge.  He heard them collide with something, and a scream, then more screams.  He rushed down the side of the bank, and saw Gretta lying on the ground, her forehead dented in, eyes open and empty.  “Shit!”  He yelped, then shook his head and eased into the water.  He grabbed the boys wrist and pulled him up to the bridge.  The other girls seemed to shake off the shock and screamed at Mike.  The ran at them with sticks and rocks in hand, like an angry mob.

”Holy shit.  Holy shit.”  The boy repeated over and over again, each time Mike replied with “I know! I know!”  The flung themselves onto Mikes bike, the boy riding get double.  Before they’d even sat down Mike started peddling, his heart leaping into husband throat when he saw a rock sail over his head.

He heard a thunk and the boy fell limp against his back.   _Fuck fuck fuck, my parents are gonna kill me,_ Mike thought, barely coherent in his mind, and left the screaming girls in the dust. 


	5. Stanley Uris Makes Up A Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um...yeah i don’t have anything to write here.

**November, 1988**

Stan opened his eyes, surprised, when he heard footsteps.  He shifted, the fabric scratching at his skin, and made a muffled sound, too quiet for whoever to hear. 

 _Come over here,_  He thought, pushing us way into the persons mind.   _Come over here now._

The footstepps changed direction and moved towards him.  He heard splashing, then the crunch of gravel underfoot next to him.

 _Get me out of here._ He continued, and soon felt the weight of the rock lifted off him.  Stan was pulled up out of the ground, and dragged a foot or so, then dropped.   _Get me out._  He repeated, calmer now that he knew hey had to listen. 

“T-they said not to.”  A boys voice said.  Stan felt a pang if guilt at the confusion and fear in his voice but pushed it away.  He had bigger problems to deal with.  He pushed farther into the boys head and repeated what he’d told him. After a moment, stan was blinded by light and squeezed his eyes shut.  

The other boy stumbled backwards into the water and yelped, clutching his head.

”What the fuck did you do?!”  He yelled at Stan.  Stan sat up and coughed into his elbow.  

“It doesn’t matter.”

”Yes it fucking does!”  He stared at him through his hands.  “You just fucking?  Went in my brain!  That fucking matters!”

”Forget about it.”  Stan told him simply, and watched as the boys eyes glazed over.  He stood up and dusted off his shirt.  He needed to get home.  Where was he?  “Where am I?”  He asked the boy, still sitting dumb in the water, his dark curls matted to his forehead dispite the cold.

”Augusta.  Maine.”  He said, then started to cry.   _Not so bad, just one town away._  “Please stop.”

”What’s your name?”

”Richie Tozier.”  He struggled on the words, not wanting to say them.

”Rich, Get out of the water,”  Stan said, spotting a bike on the other side of the river.  Probably Richies.  He crawled out of the water and sat down on the rocks, his head in his hands, shaking.  “Forget you saw me.  Go to sleep.”   

“Please - don’t leave me here!”  Richie sobbed, his eyelids drooping.

”Why not.”

”They’ll kill me...”  He mumbles, eyes sliding shut. Richie fell backwards, knocked out.  Stan made a strangled noise, debating whether or not to leave him.  He didn’t want this guys blood on his hands (assuming the same boys sent him were the ones that put him in there in the first place) but he didn’t have  _time._  

“Fine.   _Fine._ Wake up, then.”  Stan grumbled, crossing his arms.  His eyes snapped open and he looked at Stan, confused again.

”Who’re you?”  He asked and looked around.  His eyes landed on the bag.  “You weren’t in here were you?”  Stan nodded.  Richie groaned and put his head in his hands again.  “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

”Don’t.”  Stan said.  Normally, whitout any force behind it.  “I don’t have time for that.”

”You don’t have time?”  Richie laughed, “Man have I got a story for you.”

”I don’t want to hear it.”  Stan said, Richie kept talking.  Stan sighed, exasperated and exhausted.  He needed somewhere to sleep, and something to eat, and a good shower.

”...and I wasn’t supposed to open up the bag - hey...why don’t I remember opening it?”  Richie asked, looking up at him.

”Dont worry about it,”  he sighed. “Take me to your house, okay?”

”Aren’t we supposed to get dinner first?”  He asked, then cackled.  

“No.  Just take me to your house.” Stan ordered him, and let Richie lead the way, glassy eyed and silent.


End file.
